


Shrike

by equinoxxe



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Bloodhound kicks elliotts ass, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Other, Pet Names, Porn With Plot, SO MUCH FLUFF, Stuttering, afab bloodhound, and elliott is immediately swooning, porn with slight plot rather lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 07:38:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18027530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/equinoxxe/pseuds/equinoxxe
Summary: Elliott should have known he was doomed from the moment he first came across Bloodhound in the arena that day. They moved with the calculated grace of a hunter, built with a body that was all enticing muscle and shrouded mystery.They radiated a certain strength, the confidence of one not used to being caught.He wassoscrewed.(Or: Two dorks fall in love after trying to kill each other.)





	Shrike

Elliott’s pulse thundered through his ears, pain bursting through sinew and bone so harshly that he could barely tell where it was coming from anymore.

His breath came quick as he sprinted to the upper level of the nearest building, the wooden floorboards creaking beneath his boots as he ran. He managed to sloppily skid behind a cluster of supply crates moments before it felt as if his legs would give out.

 _Shit, this is bad!_ Really, _really bad,_ his brain helpfully supplied. There was only one way to describe Elliott’s current circumstances, the way he was helplessly trapped with no meds to help patch him up, the way his squad had been wiped out almost effortlessly. 

He was being hunted. By who? Elliott had a pretty damn good guess, and that wasn’t a good thing.

Though he never once saw his pursuer, he knew the sight of ravens likely meant imminent death. Elliott’s seen the newspaper, the bold headlines about the mysterious, deadly tracker known as Bloodhound. 

Elliott’s no stranger to gunshot wounds, but he’d heard that the hunter is usually quick and merciful with their kills and _fuck,_ this felt anything but. 

He clutched his chest, watched the blood seep through his fingers, agony pulsing through him with every heartbeat. He wasn’t stupid enough to believe that he escaped. All he could do was hold his Wingman tight, loaded with five bullets and no reserve ammo, and hope for the best. 

Almost as if on cue, Elliott heard the sound of the door hissing open on the first floor and light, almost unnoticeable footsteps.

He let out a heavy breath through his nostrils, careful to keep from crying out as he repositioned himself so that he could see the old staircase leading up from below. The movement downstairs was quick and calculated, a beast sniffing out their prey. It didn’t take long for them to take to the stairs, and the moment Elliott saw the beginnings of a figure emerging, he took a shot.

The bullet loudly whizzed past the masked hunter, punching a hole through the wall. _Four left._

Bloodhound slowly turned to face him, following the line of fire. Elliott cursed under his breath, hurriedly aiming and letting his last few bullets lose. 

_Shit._

Elliott panicked, and did the last thing he could do. He sent out a flurry of decoys and immediately cloaked himself, hoping to disorient the Hound long enough to make one last ditch effort at escape. 

Elliott all but threw himself from the window, gritting his teeth at the injury burning a molten hole through his chest as his feet slammed onto the dirt. He knew his invisibility wouldn’t last long, so he made a mad dash, trying to tear across the earth and put as much distance between him and Bloodhound as possible. 

In a second, he became acutely aware of how uncomfortably damp his hair was against his face, how warm and wet his suit felt against his skin, and just how hopeless the rest of this match was looking for him. 

He should have known better than to think his stunt would work against the few-time champion of the Apex games. Not that Elliott hadn’t won a few games himself. 

Elliott felt a strong hand twist around his arm, and suddenly the wind was knocked from his lungs as his back crashed into the ground, and pain quite unlike anything he’d felt before rang through his veins like wildfire. Elliott cried out, his trickery fizzling out of existence and revealing his true sorry state. 

Bloodhound straddled his waist and effortlessly held both his wrists together with one hand. Elliott wasn’t at all surprised to see that the other held their knife, glinting menacingly in the sun. 

“Well,” Elliott hissed through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the heat of their legs pressing down on him. “Looks like you got me.” 

Bloodhound did not grace him with a response, merely a tilt of their head, an acknowledgment. A promise. They bent down over him so that their respiratory attachment was mere inches away from Elliott’s ear, so close that he could almost feel the hot breath drifting from their lips behind the mask. 

“Your strength showed life,” Bloodhound’s accented voice said the words like honey, sweet and slow. “Be proud.” 

The knife dug deep into his heart without hesitation, and Elliott’s scream died on his lips before it even had the chance to rip from his throat.

* * *

Elliott was not at all surprised to find out that Bloodhound had won the last Games.

He was admittedly sore from his loss, so he licked his wounds with a glass of whiskey in the back of the Apex lounge. He wasn’t able to shake the image of Bloodhound looming over him, their mask revealing nothing about them, an anonymous predator hiding behind opaque lenses. The only thing that encounter had showed Elliott was the muscle he had felt in their legs, hands, arms. How deadly it felt being at their mercy.

It didn’t help that he couldn’t stop reimagining the way they spoke to him, how their words sent shivers down his arms and spine every time they crossed his mind. _Be proud._

He barely noticed the figure sliding onto the seat across from him, and he nearly dropped his glass as they spoke. 

“Hrekkjalómur.” They said by way of greeting.

“Wh-what the _fuck!_ I—uh, you—” Elliott stammered helplessly, caught somewhere between utter bewilderment and awkwardness. 

Bloodhound tsked. “Such foul language.” 

“Well, forgive me for being perp, perlex, perl— _confused_ at you being here… talking to me… after that,” Elliott cleared his throat. “Not that I’m saying you aren’t a sight for sore eyes, because you definitely are.” 

“After what?” Bloodhound asked, ignoring his lame attempt at a pick up. “A commendable death? A battle well fought?” 

“You call that a battle well fought? I only ran away,” Elliott scoffed, continued in an almost inaudible huff. “Like a coward.” 

Bloodhound made a contemplative noise. “One of your bullets managed to find its mark.” 

Elliott didn’t know whether he was being reprimanded or praised, and an unneeded apology teetered on the edge of his tongue. He had just been doing what the Games demanded of him. All that came out of his mouth was a rather undignified squeak—

“Really?!” 

Bloodhound answered him with a slight incline of their head. “Need I also remind you of who downed my other squad mates singlehandedly?”

Him distracting the two with a decoy and shooting them down in a flurry of bullets as they turned their backs passed through his mind in a blur. 

Oh. He had done that, hadn’t he? 

“Well, the same could be said of you,” Elliott shot back. Bloodhound didn’t reply, only twitched their head to the side, as if hesitant to speak. Elliott found himself wondering what their expression said beneath the mask. Were they contemplative? Concerned? Uncaring? 

After a few beats of silence, they spoke. 

“I came to apologize for my kill. It was not as… commendable as your passing had been.” 

Elliott snorted. “It wasn’t so bad. Believe me, being downed by Caustic is way, way worse. Breathing in all that toxic gas? Yeah, it—it’s the worst.” 

“I was not merciful, and I must have caused you much pain, Mirage.” 

Elliott relished in the way his alias fell from Bloodhound’s lips. Their raven swooped down onto their shoulder in a flutter of feathers, as if sensing its master’s grief. 

“It is alright, sá litli,” Bloodhound cooed, and gently rubbed beneath their raven’s beak with a knuckle, and Elliott must be imagining the spark of envy that he felt ignite in his belly. He was not jealous of a _bird._

“It’s, uh—really, seriously no problem,” Elliott made a vague motion with his hand. “Like I said, I’ve had it worse. Like, a lot worse.” He chuckled. “And please, call me Elliott. I think we’ve been through enough to be on first name basis. I mean, not many people have been through something as…intimate as death together, right?” 

Bloodhound shifted almost imperceptibly, lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. “I suppose not.”

“Is there something I can call you?” Elliott inquired gently. “I mean, other than the handsome hunter that killed me that one time, of course.” 

“Blóðhundur,” they tell him simply. “Bloodhound.” 

“Uh, right. Yeah,” Elliott downed the rest of his whiskey in one gulp. “That—that sounds good.” _Real smooth, Witt, real smooth._

“Also, you have no knowledge of whether I am handsome,” Bloodhound leaned back in their seat. Carefree. Confident. “As you claim.” 

They had a point—what lay beneath that mask was a complete enigma to him. Elliott’s gaze wandered to the ornaments dangling from their headpiece, to the foggy lenses that concealed their eyes from him, down to the tubes connected to their breathing canister. Followed the feathers that line their neck to the unconcerned shape of their torso, to where their legs were ever so slightly spread apart against the chair. 

Elliott thought of the accent that pleasantly warped their voice, the unseen strength that he knew was hiding beneath thick layers of clothing and decided that yeah. Yeah, Bloodhound was handsome. He didn’t need to see their face to know that. 

“You are staring,” the Hound observed. They shifted in place, causing their raven to ruffle its feathers. Elliott wondered if they felt discomfort at being so closely watched. 

“Kind of hard not to,” Elliott muttered mindlessly, voice breathy. “And I mean that in a good way.” 

Bloodhound suddenly stood, their raven readjusting itself on their arm as they did so. Elliot tried not to feel disappointed. 

“It has been nice to talk with you,” they told him quickly. “I hope we cross paths once again in the ring,” they muttered, and with a brief look over their shoulder came a small whisper, so quiet he could barely hear them. 

“Elliott.” 

The only thing that Elliott’s mind could supply were two words. Two stupid, silly words.

_Flustered. Cute._

* * *

Much to Elliott’s utter delight, they did meet again in the arena, just under polar opposite circumstances. 

They were in the same squad this time, along with a boisterous, encouraging Gibraltar. The wind from the drop ship whipped through Elliott’s hair, and he relished at the thought of fighting at Bloodhound’s side instead of being at the pointy end of their blade. 

He’d rather not go through that again if he could help it. Ever. 

“Alright, team!” Gibraltar hollered, smacking his fists together in what Elliott assumed…hoped was excitement. “You ready to drop and take home a victory?” 

“There are no squads dropping toward the Swamps as of now,” Bloodhound reported. “I would suggest that we begin our hunt there.” 

“Copy that, captain,” Elliott mock saluted at them and began taking backward steps toward the blindingly bright exit of the drop ship. “You two waiting for an invitation, or what?” 

And with that, Elliott fell headfirst from the ramp, the sudden rapid acceleration whipping his hair from his forehead and his scarf from his neck. He quickly barrel rolled and righted himself, craning his head over his shoulder. He bit back an adrenaline induced grin as he saw his teammates following not far behind in a trail of smoke. 

There’s nothing quite like the thrill, the anticipation, the excited fear of falling into King's Canyon.

The trio touched down into the Swamps with a monstrous splash of muddy water. Elliott groaned as he felt the slimy, thick liquid ooze over his suit. He tried not to think about it and sprinted, or more like hurriedly sludged, his way into the nearest building and surveyed his surroundings through the window. 

He took in the rotting wooden structures and the muggy perfume that tainted the air and subtly grimaced. Elliott wasn’t a fan of the Swamps, but who would be? It was gross. 

They barely made it out of the Swamps before they came across their first set of opponents. Elliott clutched the trusty R-301 he had managed to come across close to his chest as he launched himself down a nearby hill, hearing more than seeing the bullets as they whiz by him. 

“Mirage, on your six!” he heard Bloodhound quip through the comms. He immediately projected a decoy of himself continuing to run forward, activated his cloak and ducked out of the way. And not a moment too soon—he watched as bullets shattered through his clone. It shrugged its shoulders nonchalantly as it fizzled out of existence. _‘Woopsie!’_ it seemed to say. 

“Bamboozled ‘em!” Elliott bursted excitedly with an agile slide to cover. 

“Well done, félagi,” Bloodhound commended. He didn’t fight the lightness he felt in his chest at their praise. “Allfather, bless me with sight!” 

“I’m in pursuit!” Gibraltar bellowed out. Elliott turned just in time to see the mountain of a man hurdle the enemy onto the ground and smash his shield down into them with a sickening crunch and a spray of blood. “Sorry buddy,” he said, and he almost sounded like he meant it. “Enemy down.” 

“I have two on me!” Bloodhound reported, breathing heavily. “One is injured and dragging behind, the other is close, wielding a Peacekeeper.” 

“Stay safe until we can get to you, pal!” Gibraltar’s words fell synonymously with Elliott’s hurried, “I’m on my way!” 

Elliott flung himself toward the sound of gunfire, and it didn’t take him long to spot the conflict. He found the wounded party easily, limping behind as quickly as they could and occasionally attempting to open fire on Bloodhound. He shot a spray of bullets into them as he passed and time seemed to slow as he watched them fall.

The loud blast of his gun rung out just as a pained cry ripped through his comms. 

He looked on helplessly as the last member of the enemy squad fired their Peacekeeper at Bloodhound, close enough to see that their shields took the brunt of the damage. He looked on as Bloodhound stumbled at the impact and their foe gained enough ground on them to take another shot. Looked on as they lifted their arm to cover their face, saw that it wasn’t enough.

Drops of crimson and chunks of hard rubber flew through the air, and Bloodhound fell to the ground like a rag doll.

Elliott saw red, and didn’t think as he slammed himself into the man who did the damage. He couldn’t think as he pulled his melee weapon from its sheathe and plunged it into his neck, felt nothing as he watched him gurgle for air that he couldn’t get in through the liquid rapidly filling his throat. 

He didn’t wait for him to stop moving. Elliott hurled himself over to Bloodhound, clumsily stumbling down to his knees in his haste to get there. 

“Hey, hey,” Elliott cradled the back of Bloodhound’s neck and was relieved to see them quietly gasping. “I’ve got you this time.” 

“It seems that you do,” they choked stiffly as Elliott gently lifted them onto their feet and lead them into a nearby hut that Gibraltar motioned them toward. _All clear._

Elliott leaned Bloodhound up against the wall once they were inside, quickly surveying the damage. 

“I thank you,” Bloodhound told him softly. “It seems the Allfather was looking out for me this day.” 

Elliott shushed them lightly, eyes raking over their injuries. Their clothing was ripped in a few places, oozing blood that soaked into the fabric at an alarming rate. The wounds were worst on their forearm, which blocked most of the damage from reaching their face. Elliott gulped heavily as he finally looked at where Bloodhound’s mask would normally have been. 

Though still intact, the blast had torn away parts of the rubber and shattered the lenses. Elliott caught flashes of deep red hair, tanned skin and pale grey eyes before tearing his gaze away in a panic.

Elliott knew that it’d be a bad move to stare now, when Bloodhound lay before him as bare as they’d ever been. He may have been a douchebag, but he wasn’t _that_ much of a douchebag. 

“Alright, it’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay,” Elliott rambled thoughtlessly, digging through his bag for meds. 

“I know this,” Bloodhound gritted out. “But medicine soon would be greatly appreciated.” They clutched their arm close in what must be agony, but they didn’t show it. “You would consider this situation romantic, would you not?”

“I might,” Elliott chuckled, liked the way the words warmed his cheeks. His fingers frantically latched onto a syringe and he tore it from the bag, careful to keep his eyes off Bloodhound’s face. He jammed the needle into the hunter, and they let out a quiet hiss of pain. It wouldn't patch everything up, but it should take the edge off. 

Elliott also slid his goggles from his forehead and his scarf from his neck, offering them to Bloodhound without looking. 

“Uh—here,” he stammered. “For, the—y’know.” 

Bloodhound took them wordlessly. He heard the snap of the band on his goggles and the shuffling of fabric for a moment before they spoke. 

“I am okay now.” 

Elliott hated how he liked the way his stuff looked on them. The goggles did look kind of goofy over their shattered lenses, with the scarf bundled up over where their mouth piece would have been to boot. But Elliott couldn’t say he minded it, not one bit. 

“You two are a piece of work,” Gibraltar, who had been silent up until now, huffed out. “But I still got faith in us. Let’s go win this thing!”

* * *

They did not, unfortunately, win the match. Their squad placed third, which didn’t feel as good as taking the victory, but he couldn’t complain much at being top three after their squad’s rough start. 

Bloodhound also made a habit to track him down more often after that match ends, and _that_ was a real win in Elliott’s book. 

It started in the Apex lounge. They’d find Elliott much like the first time they actually spoke, catch him off guard, sometimes send their raven to spook him before making an appearance. They explained that she, Hrefna, had been a constant companion to them for years now, and that she’s fiercely loyal and very protective. 

Elliott may have earned himself a few well deserved pecks after trying to pet her one too many times. 

They even found the bar that Elliott picked up shifts at to earn some extra cash when he wasn’t in the ring. Bloodhound never drank, only ever got water for Hrefna. Elliott found it endearing, in a way. It was a softer side of the hunter that not many got to see. 

He’s not at all ashamed to admit that he sent his decoys over to flirt when he got busy, and delighted in the way that Bloodhound’s lenses fogged up when they got flustered. 

On the down side, it was impossible to avoid the press and fans forever. Elliott figured that Bloodhound wasn’t much of a people person—they weren’t a legend for the fame and glory, after all. But they still took it as best as they could. They politely declined to be interviewed and refused anyone who asked for a photo with them. Interestingly enough, Bloodhound did agree to autographs. 

And Elliott, being Elliott, eventually turned it into a game of sorts to get rid of the unwanted attention. He hid in ridiculous, hard to find places, but he knew that Bloodhound would always track him down. It was likely hardly a challenge for them, regardless of how hard Elliott tried to be creative. 

He waited on the flat rooftop of his workplace one night, legs dangling precariously over the edge. Elliott recalls Bloodhound opening up to him that evening, telling him stories of the greatness of the Old Gods beneath the stars. (Not that the two of them could see any constellations through the light pollution.) That roof sort of became their spot, if you will, to talk. For months they met there, until it almost felt like routine. An awesome, cherished routine to Elliott, of course. 

Bloodhound described the honor to be had in bloodshed, excitedly explained tales of the great hunts they’d been on, killing dangerous creatures throughout the Frontier. Elliott, in turn, recalled stories of his brothers. Funny things. Happy things. The good stuff that happened before they presumably died in the Frontier War. 

He tells Bloodhound about that, too. How he stayed with his mother to take care of her, to assure her that she wouldn’t lose her last son because he’d always be right there with her. Elliott remembered laughing at that, because she had been the one who essentially kicked him to the curb with some Holo-Tech and told him to go follow his dream, already. 

Elliott tried not to be discouraged at Bloodhound’s natural resistance to his advances. He’d always been a physically affectionate guy; picked up one-night stands with a well placed palm on the waist, made friends with a good natured slap to the shoulder or a fist bump. He showed his fondness for someone through subtle touch; fingers sliding against an elbow, hands discreetly brushing together. 

Those things didn’t work on Bloodhound—at least not at first. They would nonchalantly nudge Elliott’s fingers from their shoulder. Their hand would twitch away from Elliott’s at the slightest of contact. They’d put that ever so slight yet painfully obvious distance between them as they walked side by side. 

It didn’t work on the closed-off hunter, until it did. 

Bloodhound had been reciting tales of their goddess of love, Freyja, and her sacred hall of Folkvang, dwelling with her armies of fallen heroes. Elliott had been enraptured, soaking in every word they spoke. And when he carefully slid his pinky over to bump against Bloodhound’s, they didn’t jerk away. 

Elliott had slowly, slowly trailed his fingers over Bloodhound’s, held his breath as his palm settled over their knuckles, feather light, prepared to pull away at the smallest sign of discomfort. But there was no stiffening of their shoulders, no flinching, no nothing. 

Their speech hadn’t even faltered, they just kept speaking as if nothing had happened, and Bloodhound made no move to pull away. Elliott had smiled so hard he thought his cheeks would split. 

Elliott thought back on that roof fondly for other reasons, too. 

“Do you ever think that I talk too much?” Elliott asked, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

“I do not,” Bloodhound immediately responded. “The sound never bothers me.” 

“You tellin’ me you like the sound of my voice?” He teased, waggling his eyebrows at the hunter suggestively. 

“Perhaps,” they responded noncommittally, but Elliott could hear the humor in their words. 

They sat in silence for a few moments, content to listen to the sounds of night life below them. 

“Elliott,” Bloodhound softly cut through the quiet. “I have a request I would like to ask of you.” 

“Anything, sugar.” 

Elliott had initially taken to calling them pet names to get a rouse out of them, and though it never seemed to work, the habit just sort of… stuck. 

“Close your eyes.” 

“O…okay,” Elliott slowly let his eyes fall shut, a confused crease in his brow. “They’re closed.” 

“I see that,” Bloodhound breathed. 

The last thing Elliott expected was to hear the _click_ of the hunter unfastening their mask. Now he was _really_ confused.

“H-hey, you don’t have to do anything you aren’t part—parcularly—partilar—comfortable with,” Elliott stammered nervously. _Christ,_ he was thirty years old and they had him babbling like a damn teenager. 

“If I was not comfortable, rest assured, I would not be doing it.” 

The sound of Bloodhound’s voice without the heavy filter of their mask was nothing short of breathtaking, beautiful, melodic. Elliott was about to say as much, when he suddenly felt the unmistakable heat of another body moving close to him, the warmth of a breath puffed out against his cheeks. 

His brain short circuited as he felt the dry press of Bloodhound’s mouth against his own. Soft, slightly chapped and so, so warm. The kiss was over almost as fast as it had started. Elliott sat there motionless and gaping like an idiot with his eyes still screwed shut for what felt like an eternity after they pulled away. 

“Do it again,” he blurted thoughtlessly. 

Bloodhound let out a soft noise, and it took Elliot a moment to process that they were laughing, albeit discreetly and quietly.

“Patience, elskan,” they all but purred. 

Elliott was transported back to the very first time he heard Bloodhound speak. _Your strength showed life._ Dripping like molasses, slow and sweet. _Be proud._

“There is much more to come.”

* * *

Elliott’s blood always felt like it was on fire after a match. 

It was like his insides were trying to tear themselves from his body. It made him restless, like there was a time bomb ticking beneath his skin waiting to explode and demolish everything around him. He scoffed at the thought. Elliott would probably welcome an end, at this point.

He sat slumped on his couch, watched his hands as they shook against his lap. The slouched shape of his body was silhouetted against the landscape that panned out through the wall-length glass windows in his living room. He tried to calm himself, staring out at the city bathed in lights, but he found no comfort there. 

Elliott didn’t know if it bothered him or relieved him that he hadn’t met Bloodhound in the arena this time. He knew that, even after all they’d been through in the past months, fighting a good fight was still ingrained within the hunter. It was their instincts to kill, to slaughter like a bird of prey. Elliott wasn’t sure that he would have been able to do the same, and it probably would have disappointed them. 

_What happened to being brave?_ Bloodhound cooed in his head, echoing around his skull. _You are a disgrace in the eyes of the Allfather._

Elliott ground his teeth as he chased away the traces of their imagined voice. He usually went for a run when he got like this, but he wasn’t feeling up for it tonight. He was in the mood to hole himself up and relish in the mess that was his everyday sometimes. The Apex Games took a lot out of him, but he wouldn’t give it up for anything. 

His blood was on fire, he told himself. That was why he had jumped hard as he heard knuckles rapping against his door, why he felt like he wanted to punch whoever the hell it was. Get in a fight for the fuck of it.

Elliott all but flung his door open, surprised that he hadn’t tore it off its hinges, and blanched at the figure standing there.

“Bloodhound.” 

The sight of them cooled his body by a fraction. Just a fraction. 

“Elliott.” 

They had their head tilted toward the ground, as if they didn’t dare look at him. 

“How did you— no, scratch that, uh— ” he sputtered. It came as no surprise that Bloodhound would know where Elliott lived. “Why are you here?” 

Bloodhound let out a dark chuckle that seemed to say, _as if you mind me being here._

“Why else, elskan?” they mused lowly. “I told you there was more to come.” 

Bloodhound’s hand hurtled toward him in a flash, strong fingers fisting in the thin fabric of the scarf that they had wound around themselves in the ring. They shoved Elliott backward with it and kicked the door shut behind them, and he didn’t try to stop them as they leaned forward, hot breath ghosting across his neck. 

“I want you, elskaðir,” they sighed wantonly. “Do not deny me this.” 

“Y-yeah, of course,” Elliott choked out. “Wasn’t planning on it. Definitely wouldn’t stop this, not in a million—”

Bloodhound let out an almost feral growl, gave him a gentle shake. “Be quiet.” 

Elliott found himself inappropriately smiling at them. He guessed the Games got Bloodhound fired up, too. 

He quickly hooked his foot around Bloodhound’s ankle, throwing them off balance and using the inertia of their fall to flip them onto the couch. Elliott ended up on top, hovering over them, elbows digging into the cushions on either side of their mask. 

“You caught me,” Bloodhound observed hotly, gently tracing their gloved hands over the veins jumping in Elliott’s neck. “Now what?”

Their words carried a condescending lilt. A tease meant to spur Elliott on, and it absolutely worked. 

Elliott ground his hips down into Bloodhound’s groin, relishes in the audible hitch of breath it earns him. He did it again, a heavy press of his hardening length against their heat. 

“Maybe you’re the one that should be quiet, sugar,” Elliott mused playfully, wished that he could find skin to run his fingers across, bite down on, trail his tongue over. 

The need to touch them was so potent that it almost hurt, the thought of them completely bare sending sparks straight to his length. But he wouldn’t ask that of them, knew that if they were ready, they would. 

Bloodhound trailed their palm to the back of Elliott’s neck, used it to forcefully pull his head down close to them to snarl in his ear. “I am in no mood for games tonight, Elliott.” 

Elliott felt his brain fall completely into line with his cock as Bloodhound spoke. 

“Fuck me.” 

The next few minutes passed by in a blur. One moment Elliott was fully clothed, and the next Bloodhound was impatiently yanking his shirt from his torso, running the textured material of their gloves over his toned chest, down his abdomen to the zipper of his pants. Bloodhound didn't give him time to take them off, just impatiently tugged until they managed to get his to dick spring free, painfully hard and dripping.

The hunter frantically kicked off one of their boots, and Elliott helped them undo the strap of their kneepad and yank one pant leg from their body. He swallowed thickly, his heart suddenly lodged in his throat, awed at the sight before him. Bloodhound’s calves and thighs were chorded with deadly muscle that twitched at even the slightest of movement, leading up to their core, the most intimate part of them. 

_I wish I could see all of them,_ Elliott thought blankly, and didn’t realize that his stupid mouth had actually blurted the words _aloud_ until he heard Bloodhound respond.

“I can take my mask off for you, elskan,” they paused for what felt like forever after they spoke, breathing heavily.

Elliott was seconds away from telling them not to worry, that he could wait. Wait forever, if he needed to. 

“I trust you,” they continue, and he felt something light and airy burst open in his chest at the admission. Elliott didn’t let himself think too far into what that meant. 

“You do.” It was a statement spoken like a question.

Bloodhound nodded shallowly, heard them take in a breath as they reached for their mask, fingers tightly gripping the sides of it. They slowly lifted it up and away, and Elliott’s gaze softened as he saw the rest of what he caught only glimpses of in the ring all that time ago. 

Soft stormy eyes and long, untamed crimson hair. Elliott fondly noticed that some pieces were pulled into small braids throughout. They were all sharp angles and tanned skin riddled with scars, and Elliot didn’t think it was possible to find them more breathtakingly beautiful. 

He saw what Elliott’s ministrations had done to Bloodhound in the pink staining their cheeks, in the impatient wrinkle in their brow and in their lips, slightly parted. 

“Hello, gorgeous,” he muttered softly, pressed a kiss to their forehead, then one on the bridge of their nose, the corner of their mouth, down to the hard line of their jaw. He slid one hand down toward Bloodhound’s wet heat, eager to slip inside and spread them open finger by finger. Elliott jumped as they hurriedly slapped his hand away, snaps his head up to look at them with brows raised in shock. 

“Don’t,” they pant. “I do not need it. I can take you.” 

Elliott caught Bloodhound’s chin between his finger and thumb, looked down at them with intense eyes. An unspoken question. The heated resolve in Bloodhound’s gaze answered it. 

He brushed his mouth against theirs, licked against their bottom lip before catching it between his teeth, giving it a gentle, teasing tug. Their nostrils flared in response, the muted grey of their irises swallowed up by the black of their pupils. 

Elliott took himself in hand, lined himself up, just barely let his head brush against their heat, testing the waters. Bloodhound impatiently hooked their leg around his ass and pushed him forward, and Elliott whimpered as he felt his cock begin to slip inside them. 

Bloodhound’s back arched off the cushions as Elliott sheathed himself with a slow roll of his hips. Their mouth parted in a sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan and they’re _so_ tight. Elliott knew it had to hurt, but Bloodhound only tangled their fingers in Elliott’s hair and mewled beneath him. 

“Move,” they demanded, writhing against him. Elliott pulled out, painfully slowly, just to see the way their expression shifted from impatience to agonized pleasure. “Please, Elliott.” 

Aw, shit. That was just unfair, breathing his name like that. 

Elliott snapped his hips forward, hissing as his pelvis met the skin of Bloodhound’s ass. He set a fast, brutal pace, and Bloodhound cried out, the sound of their flesh meeting filling the heated air hanging around them. 

_“Ríða,”_ Bloodhound’s voice was low and gritty, and Elliot’s cock twitched inside of them in response. _“Það er svo gott.”_

He had no idea what that meant, but he knew he liked the way their native language rolled off their tongue, smooth and slow. Heat pooled in Elliott’s gut, and he inhaled sharply as Bloodhound gave a harsh tug to his hair. He pushed deeper, deeper, deeper into them, felt something twitching low in his belly, like a dam about to burst. 

_“Oh,_ baby,” Elliott groaned, snapping his hips against Bloodhound over and over, each thrust harder, less controlled than the last. “You feel so good. I think I’m gonna—I’m gonna, soon—” 

Bloodhound didn’t respond, merely threw their head back, baring their neck to him. A predator in submission. The way their body shook against him told him they couldn’t be far behind, and Elliott’s fingers easily found the place where they needed to be touched most to tip them over the edge.

Elliott could feel more than hear Bloodhound as they shuddered apart beneath his hands. He only had a moment to watch the ecstasy of their orgasm wash over their features before his own release found him. Elliott came with a broken moan, his steady rhythm shattering beneath the pleasure sparking through his body like a live wire. 

He collapsed onto Bloodhound’s chest, gasping for breath. They allowed him to, for awhile, Elliott’s nose buried comfortably into the bundle of feathers at their neck. He traced the shape of their jaw with the pad of his thumb, listened to the steady beat of their pulse. 

He breathed in their scent—leather and earthy wilderness, sweat and sex, and it was in that moment that Elliott accepted that he was well and truly gone. He had tumbled headfirst over that cliff without realizing how close he had gotten to the edge.

And Elliott was okay with that.

**Author's Note:**

> So this was just supposed to be a little pwp, but I have no self control and I couldn't stop writing and just ended up with this lol. I’ve fallen into a complete apex legends pit, and I'm thirsty for more content, so alas, here I am, delivering this hot mess and some bottom!bloodhound to boot. 
> 
> Bloodhound’s appearance is based off of Toastoat’s design. [(here)](http://toastoat.tumblr.com/post/183067353705/i-wasnt-strong-enough-to-keep-mullethound-now) It’s absolutely gorgeous and I fell in love and now I cant imagine them any other way lol.
> 
> Also, the scene where elliott gives bloodhound his goggles and scarf was inspired by a text post on tumblr that I will probably never find again. So if y'all know who posted that, let a girl know! 
> 
> And lastly, some translations! I had bloodhound speak Icelandic and I definitely Do Not know the language, so there is most likely some mistranslations.
> 
> Hrekkjalómur: trickster  
> Sá litli: little one  
> Félagi: comrade  
> Hrefna: Raven  
> Elskan: my darling  
> Elskaðir: my dear  
> Ríða: fuck  
> Það er svo gott: It’s so good 
> 
> The title was inspired by a song by Hozier, and yes, I listened to his new album on repeat while I wrote this. Hope you guys enjoyed reading! ♥
> 
> EDIT: OMG all of your comments are so sweet, and I read and cherish each and every one. Like wow. xoxoxoxo


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